The blood work will tell the tale, will run the wires from here to there and back again, will fill the deep end with meaning and a sweet, sweet refrain.
The royal rube goes to the doctor to get rid of his rubeness only to find out that it can't be removed, won't wash off, doesn't respond well to medication.
The strange girl with the bum knee waits for something tumultuous to come to her on a Tuesday in broad daylight near the pet clinic.
The hardwood floor takes a deep breath before prodding the Greek gods to take their debate outside.
The tragedy in five acts between mother bird and baby bird is played out above the slanted driveway that winds around a cedar tree.
The mystic in a muddle manufactures a message that all good boys and girls can place under their pillows for a future reward of monumental proportions.
The razzmatazz boys take the softball game into extra innings humming a little Benny Goodman and inhaling some sloe gin fizzes.
The rehabilitated cousin stands in the street with his pantlegs rolled up and a crude smile plastered to the middle of his face as a spaghetti truck loses speed at the top of the hill.
The garage sale goes into overdrive by putting on the market some really cool dark matter and slightly worn winged spaceplanes.
The king of the avenue of oaks faces a flickering globe of light that rides the back of a painted turtle.
The circus clown with adverbs for shoes reclines in the metal chair that has dug into a flower bed full of adjectives.
The ocean takes issue with the river and the river is not happy with the stream and the stream is no longer on speaking terms with the puddle for allowing humans to muck up the works with their waste and religious fervor.
The crickets start up a band in the bathtub and keep the spiders up all night.
The film crew lights up the evening at the period gas station on North Lake Ave. while the starlet does her best Marilyn Monroe in the backseat of a vintage Rolls.
The sidewalks are sagging under the weight of horrified buccaneers who have been given shovels for swords as dazzling dirt clods fly into oncoming traffic.
The mad scientist flips some cosmic flapjacks for the extended family on a mid-week morning with a pack of starlings taking over the power lines.
The hapless young husband attempts to dig a trench around each rose bush before taking a beer break as his gallant young wife climbs the ladder to the highest point in the galaxy of weeds.
The waitress in a leopard dress spirits away the empties before her partial unraveling in the parking lot with the dessert chef from Fargo.
The family picnic is dismantled by a swarm of bees and uncle Joe hitting on the Goth girls hanging out by the restroom.
The retired schoolteacher flexes her tattoos on Mother's Day under the shade of a gazebo with ghosts gardening in the geometry of family.
The paper cut conversations between interrogators and messengers cannot be contained at the edges of intersections that ancestors find divisible by sky.
The juggler dumps her bowling pins into a duffel bag and brings out the chainsaws to the delight of the middle-school gymnasts.
The petulant gulls break up the monotony of the morning by pelting the windows of the newly renovated library.
The great ballplayer trips over a first base dream and splashes into a nightmare before any peanuts can be shelled.
The three-story apartment building on the next block is moved to a local parking lot until it can be adopted by a needy town somewhere between here and Las Vegas.
The bag lady of Ventura pushes her cart full of pelicans to the fish market where the summer wind pulls its weight in shrimp.
The wandering soul of Saticoy gets lost in a seventh hole sand trap and keeps on digging.
The cynical older voter predicts that California will never stop relying on propositions to make matters worse.
The sun goes down on the lost continent of Oxnard forcing the eight ball to teeter on the edge of a corner pocket.
The ice cream truck does a midafternoon spin around the nature reserve parking lot before going for a psychic reading.
The neighbor's dog goes into the dance of the infinite tail spin as the first star of the evening gets a running start at the whole sky.
The ghost with a grudge takes up residence in the childhood home that had kept him quiet at all cost.
The movie starts at the drive-in as the freeway traffic zooms by and young girls suddenly pop out of the trunks of several souped-up sedans.
The garden rat lets the air out of my tires, puts a hole in my radiator, shatters a side mirror, keys a door, and leaves droppings on the hood that spells out how he's not leaving the Republican Party anytime soon.
The pool guy pockets the tips he earned rubbing lotion on the backs of the bridge club ladies before heading for the pizza place at the end of the street.
The Derby crowd with long-shot dreams and domestic beers hunkers down in front of the big screen to watch twenty horses go the distance.
The tipsy tourist with a terrible rash and a tragic sense of direction tumbles into a taxi on a hot night in Tarzana.
The woman with the mesmerizing freckles takes a dozen cell phone calls in the produce section to fill up her Sunday morning.
The Jackson Pollock of main street leaps into the air during a hailstorm flinging red paint with the brush in his right hand and blue paint with the brush in his left.
The excruciatingly bad street musician continues to make up songs on the spot and share them with his public hanging out at the red light.
The uninvited mathematician pulls a formula out of his hat and presents a family with a fresh frame of reference.
The acutely sensitive researcher stays late after work to feed into the computer new variables that he hopes will prove his suspicions to be correct.
The Florida guy with animal magnetism and alligator shoes takes the microphone at the city council meeting and wins support for a new dog walk behind the crumbling industrial park.
The Dorothy Parker of the fast food set opens the day with a breakfast burrito and a brilliant retort addressed at a belching bus carrying Catholic girls down the straight and narrow.
The bourgeois poet with bags under his eyes secures another blanket for the night by taking down an ornamental banner from the wall of lost causes.
The crazy American editor living in Myanmar heads for the border hoping for another strip search serenade to make his day.
The senior citizens lock heads over a game of chess on the back porch while Sixty Minutes gets to the bottom of the vice president on a portable TV.
The exhausted wife sits in the center of her garden and glows while a wayward husband inflicts his wrath on the corporate world and future children remain frozen in time.
The good son takes out the trash without being asked, runs a bath for his little sister, removes his toy soldiers from the dinner table, reads more Edgar Allan Poe, keeps all evil thoughts to himself.
The loitering crow eyes the remains of a sweet and sour TV dinner that had been purposely dumped at the edge of the driveway before the first sprinkle had turned into a downpour.
The young woman who had just outmaneuvered a brown bear is clipped by a passing car before she has had a chance to change her luck.
The family of skunks runs into a wounded possum behind the prison chapel on a moonlit night in July.
The fire victims appear on the network news in order to thank their lucky but singed stars that the winds died down long enough for the water drops to blanket the remaining structures.
The movie people point the bright lights toward the mausoleum and call for action.
The light changes from red to green allowing a well-equipped infantry of middle school recruits to advance into a hapless neighborhood with full carte blanche privileges.
The morning sky brushes up against a battered sphinx that has been nervously shaking off its protective scaffolding.
The local librarian with an imported limp posts teenage constellations above the sliding doors to the meeting room where Earth Day becomes latticework for the undead.
The Santa Ana wind carries all the crickets rescued from bathtubs, sinks, and closets on a new journey across the deserted streets of commerce.
The midnight coyotes rush north to drink from a glistening trench that has been cut near exposed sprinkler heads.
The homeless man returns to his side of the philosophical divide with a skinny dog under his feet.
